


A Court of Silence and Steel

by hcjulie



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: BDSM, Desire, Dom/sub, Dominance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hardcore, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Light Angst, Lust, Mates, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rescue, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Submission, Trauma, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:02:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29709270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hcjulie/pseuds/hcjulie
Summary: Like calls to Like—that's what the saying was. The silence that had accompanied him for his entire life had always been coupled with the darkness that was him; in his head, in his soul, in the shadows he wielded.All she had known was the misery of silence and darkness—ever since she'd been kidnapped and sold; chained like a mutt and left to rot in a cell.And as Azriel will soon find out, misery /does/ love company.
Relationships: Azriel (ACoTaR)/Original Character(s), Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Elain Archeron/Original Character(s), Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 27
Kudos: 115





	1. Prologue

Silence had always been his companion.

For centuries, it had accompanied him on to battlefields, kept him company as he tended to his spymaster duties for Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.

Had kept him awake for countless nights, hazel eyes gazing tirelessly into the ceiling of his bedroom at the House of Wind.

It had consumed him for a time. In that dark cell, high above everyone else in a tower that let little light in. That darkness, which he had kept close to his heart, entwining itself so deeply with his soul, everything that he was.

It might have awakened his Shadowsinging abilities, perhaps they had even grown as an extension to that never ending darkness and silence.

Silent and dark and so bone achingly _cold._

Even that terrible pain of his hands being consumed by a blazing heat, his screams of terror and fear and pain would never, _had never_ , broken that neverending silence that had been present even then.

The cruel laughter of his step brothers, the true heirs of his Illyrian Lord father, had resonated in his head, never once denting that impenetrable darkness.

It had gotten worse almost two centuries now, a silence so pressing on his consciousness he hadn’t bothered to fight against it.

He submitted to it.

Let it wash over him, his mind, his essence.

Nesta had admitted to the roaring in her head, a sound so fueled with violence and hatred and denial that she would have done anything to stop it.

_Had_ done everything to stop it.

She’d given up her powers, left with just a glimmering fractal of what had been bone jarring, world shaking power she’d ripped from the Cauldron with teeth and iron claws.

But this silence in his head..

It yawned, so wide and dark and utterly endless in his head, the pressing urgency to do something had tugged the edges of his awareness.

Azriel hadn’t stopped to consider even for a moment.

That perhaps, this darkness wasn’t even his own.

~o0o~

The only thing she knew was darkness.

Darkness and damp and chill.

The musty scent of rot and mildew permeated the stale air.

_How long had she been down here?_

Chained like a fucking mutt, a heavy faebane laced iron collar clipped to her throat, pressing itself softly against her windpipe.

The faebane weakened her powers; made her so sleepy some days she could only rest her cheek against the filthy floors, glazed eyes staring hopelessly out.

Left her helpless enough that the ones who kept her captive could come down that endless spiraling staircase and drain her blood, leaving her on death’s doorstep.

Over and over and over again.

_It has been so, so long._

Since she had tasted sunlight, felt the rustle of air through the deep raven feathers of her wings, practically useless now with so many years of never being able to fly and soar. It was a small mercy that they never clipped her wings. One of a kind, she’d been so often told, and so lovely in the way they combined the strength and dexterity of the massive Illyrian wings and the delicate avian characteristics of the Peregryns.

She could hear the echoing steps of heavy boots on the stone stairwell that spiraled down, down, down to where they kept her captive, the person undoubtedly carrying two slender flasks to fill with her miraculous blood, which carried the healing abilities of the Dawn Court, her mother’s court. With the use of her blood, any injury could heal at a rate exponentially faster than the already quickened healing that many of the High Fae possessed.

A drop of her blood on a fatal wound, even one that was still profusely bleeding, would be sealed in a matter of minutes, healed completely within an hour.

She heard the jingle of keys as the person finally made it to the rusted iron door that was the sole entrance to her cell, heard the grunt as the faebane that was built into every concrete block of the cell washed over them, muting their senses and powers.

_Had it been a century yet? Two?_

_She could no longer tell._

_Hours and days and weeks and years had all blurred into each other._

_Endless silence and darkness and dampness and cold._

The person, male from what she could see through her bleary eyes, kneeled before her filthy cot, extracting a horrendously long needle, its tip gleaming with a combination of anesthetic and faebane before he grabbed her limp arm, twisting it so that her palm faced up.

He’d done this before; he found her vein effortlessly and slid the needle in smoothly. The faebane in the anesthetic kept the puncture from sealing over as he carefully connected a tube that emptied her blood into the two flasks he’d brought with him.

A pained whimper crawled up her throat, turning into a wheeze as the collar kept her from being able to speak.

“It’ll be over soon,” The male murmured, pity gleaming in eyes that were a deep, dark cobalt.

_When?_

_When would it be over..?_

She sent the thought arcing into the darkness that she had come to know so well, praying, hoping, begging for someone to hear her.

_Help me…_


	2. Chapter 2

Azriel jolted awake, hazel eyes searching for the danger that had woken him from a light slumber. 

Silence answered him.

He let out an exhausted sigh, closing his eyes and peering into the darkness to see if his shadows had found something; he was certain that he’d heard something call out to him, or perhaps, it was someone.

A desperate plea...

But for whom?

When his shadows reported back with nothing amiss in the House of Wind, he relaxed into the black duvet that covered his bed, nearly as large as Cassian’s. Rhysand had gifted them both with custom sleeping arrangements large enough for their massive wings to spread out fully, with room to spare.

He stared into the gloom of his bedroom, quiet and thoughtful when a pressing sense of urgency tugged at his awareness, something that he’d become familiar with over the last few years. 

It happened every few months. A sense of dread welling in the darkness that occupied his head, that pressing need to do something becoming a living, tangible thing in that writhing mass of shadows, grew teeth and claws that ripped into his soul and made him so desperate to do anything to calm the sheer misery.

Cassian had joked that it was almost as though he was on a cycle like any other fae female, putting him into an odd headspace that even the silence and darkness he was so accustomed to felt like a breath of fresh air once the feeling passed, usually in a few days. It made him tenser than usual, his brooding amplified at the utter helplessness he felt.

Resigned to the fact that he would not be slumbering any longer, he slipped from his bed and padded on silent feet to the adjoining washroom. He stood at the sink and stared at his reflection, taking in the purple smudges beneath his hazel eyes, the sharpness of his cheekbones, and the frown that tilted his full lips in a despondent scowl.

Azriel splashed cold water on his face and neck, chasing away the last traces of a sleep he would never get before stalking out to the balcony that looked out over the city of Velaris, a cool breeze carding through his raven locks. He stretched his wings leisurely before launching into the sky, content to stay within the wards of the House.

He landed silently on the roof where the training ring was located, where Cassian and Nesta continued to train the priestesses. He still helped on occasion, but with Rhysand still searching for the mortal queens who had fled from Briallyn during her manic hunt for the Crown and the rest of the Dread Trove, he was away on Spymaster duties more often than not.

Gwyn and Emerie had both stepped up though, teaching the priestesses who continued to join the growing ranks of the Valkyrie rebirth - they were shaping up well and while he and Cassian would never admit it aloud, they were quite proud of them.

He stood looking out over the edge, admiring the starlit city which would slumber for a few hours yet when Rhys’ voice entered his thoughts.

_“Couldn’t sleep?”_

_“Unfortunately no.”_

_“Token for your thoughts?”_ Rhys’ voice rumbled lowly, languid with pure male satisfaction; how he and Feyre continued to find time at all hours of the day to show their continuing love for each other with a six month old was beyond him. Nyx, the little princeling, was already shaping up to be an absolute handful, spoiled beyond measure and adored by the Inner Circle as well as the entire city of Velaris.

_“The...restlessness has returned. An urgency unlike the other times fills me. The silence is so incredibly, undeniably deafening in a way that it has never been before.”_ Az let out an agonized sigh, exhaling slowly as he heard his brother hum in response.

_“Anything different outside of the urgency?”_ Rhys questioned, and Az could hear the shift in his tone; he was viewing this as an issue for the High Lord of the Night Court and not simply as his brother.

_“I was awoken by something. A voice, though I didn’t make out the words, just that the feeling behind it jolted me from slumber. It was a plea for help, I’m certain,”_ Az thought back, pursing his lips as he tilted his head back, letting the night kissed breeze cool his warmed skin.

_“A voice—”_

Rhys’ connection faded into the background as a broken whisper breached that neverending darkness in his head.

_Please, help me._

A feminine voice, filled with such emotion that it startled Azriel, forcing him to take a step back and flare his wings to keep his balance.

_“Rhysand.”_ Rhys’ voice came back with a sudden clarity but stopped at Azriel’s sudden thought.

_“Did you hear that?”_

_“Hear what?”_ There was a brief pause and Azriel could sense that Rhys was looking over the wards of the House, checking everything to ensure that Azriel was indeed alone at the House of Wind; Cassian and Nesta were both away to sort out a scuffle in Windhaven. 

_“A voice. Female. She asked for help,”_ Azriel thought, searching through the darkness for the source of that voice, so broken and filled with such despair he couldn’t breathe for a moment, overwhelmed by the desperation that bellied it.

_“Answer it. Is she hurt? What is her location? How is she contacting you?”_ Rhys demanded, his voice sharpening, becoming more of the worried High Lord who would do anything for the wellbeing of his people. 

Azriel let his thoughts grow quiet as he extended his awareness, searching in the shifting shadows for a hint of the female voice. 

_"Who are you? More importantly, where are you?"_

Silence. 

He could feel Rhys waiting for an update, could hear some of his thoughts as he gazed upon a fussing Nyx.

_"Who… I? I'm… unsure anymore… so long ago…"_ The voice floated into his thoughts, quieted, softened in a way that felt forced. Muted. Almost as though she were speaking to him from the other side of a chasm. Only certain words managed to connect and fill his head. 

_"Where?"_ Az pressed, forcing as much weight and emphasis into the singular word as he could. If she could just tell him where her location was, he would go to her without a second's hesitation. Help her. Ease the brokenness that echoed her every word. 

Something about her voice, so soft and forlorn, tugged at his heart, filled it with such longing and sorrow. He had an itching suspicion; if Feyre had painted her armoire with a night sky because Rhysand had thought of it during his miserable years as Amarantha's captive… 

_"... bern…"_ The barest whisper echoed in his head, edged with so much sadness and hopelessness. It was a bleak, broken sound and Az almost fell to his knees at it; he would have given anything to help the owner of the voice. 

_"Bern? Are you… In Hybern?"_ Az questioned softly, urgency lacing his tone. Hybern was a neighboring island that was two days' flight from Prythian; the island had fallen into a state of corruption upon the King's death. Lords squabbled over land and forced weaker fae and mortals alike to take on subservient roles; servants, soldiers, unwilling toys for… pleasure. 

It was a terrible place to be. 

_"..y… es…capital… lord's.. es.. tate"_

_"Are you hurt?"_ Azriel thought back, feeling that overwhelming desire to protect, protect, protect thrumming in his head, instincts forcing his hands to curl into fists, his nails leaving crescent shaped marks in his palms. 

_"Fae… bane…. dungeon,"_ the voice answered back, growing softer and weaker with each passing moment. 

_"Az?"_ Rhysand. For a moment, he'd forgotten that his brother was even there. 

Directing his thoughts to his Lord, he summarized what little information he could glean. _"She's in Hybern. Under the influence of Faebane, locked in a cellar or dungeon of a Lord, presumably underground."_

He could practically hear Rhys' thoughts, mulling over what information was given. It was silent for a moment before he answered. 

_"Az, Feyre thinks that this female, whoever she is…"_

_"Yes, I'm aware. If I'm reacting this way, there is a very good chance that she is my…"_

_"As long as you're aware of it. I will leave the decision for you to take a pause in Spymaster duties to consider a rescue operation. If you go through with it, Cassian and I will follow your lead."_

_"And leave Feyre with Nyx?"_

_"If you pursue this, I'll have Mor and Amren stay at the River House to help her with any political matters that may arise."_ Rhys replied, firmly establishing that this was going to be up to him. 

Az cursed silently, his fists still clenched as he contemplated the best way to approach the issue. 

_"Even if the bond doesn't take, you know that I'll want to at least see to her wellbeing, safe, here in Velaris."_

_"I'll support you in whatever way you see fit."_ Rhys responded. Azriel considered his options carefully before steeling his suddenly shaky nerves; he needed answers and his mate needed to be saved. 

Mate. 

_His mate_. 

He wasn't going to pretend—seeing Rhys find his long awaited happiness with Feyre and Cassian with Nesta, he would be an outright liar to say he felt nothing when seeing how blissfully happy his brothers were. 

He thought of Elain, the middle sister whose beauty was nearly unparalleled, and her mate match, Lucien, doing the bare minimum when checking in with her. It had been done in the past, where mates were simply not matches in more than what viable offspring could be produced. He thought of Elain, and knew that if he pursued her, there would be happiness, eventually. A settlement for both of them. It wouldn't be a mate bond, but they would be content. 

A wry smile graced his face; two mate matches between the Archeron sisters and his brothers? His pursuit of Elain was a cliche waiting to happen.

And he thought of Gwyn, whose teal eyes and coppery red hair were filled with life—a far cry from when he found her in Sangravah, little more than a rape toy for the soldiers who had stormed her temple, looking to take the children that Gwyn had practically given her life to protect. 

And yet...

Perhaps it was just the mate bond. 

But neither of those two made him _want_ to seek them out.

He'd certainly done it for Elain once, when the King of Hybern had kidnapped her and the only thing he could think of was to save the sweet soul who'd been taken from the safety and comfort of the Inner Circle. He’d risked his life to save her, all sweet brown doe eyes and golden-brown hair; a damsel in distress that tugged at his core as both a male and a warrior. She had needed the saving. 

Was he, perhaps, just another one of her adoring lackeys at that point, so charmed by her sheer beauty? Saving her just to prove a point? To her? To himself? 

Azriel sighed, staring towards the mountains that edged the Night Court's territory, where beyond their snow crusted peaks, lay an ocean that separated the two Fae inhabited islands. 

_"I'm coming for you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing this so far. Let me know what you guys think ^^ next chapter will see to the introduction of his potential mate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Rape and Torture are mentioned throughout this chapter.

Rin wasn’t certain if that smooth male baritone that seemed to answer her pleas was a figment of her imagination or not. Perhaps she’d finally lost her mind; she knew people who had gone crazy from far less than what she’d endured.

Perhaps that darkness that surrounded her had grown a consciousness, became a living, breathing entity to keep her company in what she’d assumed was now her final days. Dying didn’t seem like such a terrible ending; she’d served her time here on the living plane even if the latter half of it had been the most singularly bleak experience in her nearly 400 year life span.

A humorless laugh echoed in her head, her voice had long since lost its speaking ability; she could only let incomprehensible whines and whimpers past that damnable Faebane collar. What had she been reduced to? 

She could recall soaring in the blush toned skies of the Dawn Court; the sunrises had been her mother’s favorite where she had preferred the sunsets. The night had always called to her in such a sweetly, seductive voice, beckoning for her to come and explore that midnight, starlit gloom. 

Rin ached to stretch her wings, to feel the glorious wind sift through her raven feathers, the sweet scented breeze twisting her long, inky tresses, a wild halo of darkness around her head. Despite carrying the healing abilities of the Dawn Court, she'd taken on the physical attributes of her Illyrian father. 

The bastard that had raped her mother.

Arista had been one of the loveliest Peregryns to ever go through the Dawn Court’s ranks. With hair that was the color of sunlight on fresh snow, porcelain skin, the delicately pointed ears of her High Fae father, and the elegantly arched white wings from her mother that distinguished the Peregryns from their darkened, bloodthirsty Illyrian counterparts in the Night Court, Arista had suitors that flocked to her for her beauty and healing abilities.

Healing abilities were fairly commonplace in the Dawn Court; the most talented physicians hailed from the Solar Court and the ones who sought to be a healer went there for their healer’s training. Thesan’s medical archive was well known to be the most extensive and meticulously catalogued Aesculapian Library in the entire realm, mortal and Fae.

Arista was able to heal any physical wound with her blood, a phenomenon called Absolute Alleviation, a trait she’d passed on to her daughter. While hers specifically was through the use of blood, others who had the ability could heal through just physical touch and Thesan’s personal Chief of Medicine was able to heal by singing to her patients.

Her mother was one of only a handful that came from the Dawn Court with this miraculous ability; of the 8 that had ever been blessed with Absolute Alleviation, she was the only one who had chosen to not pursue a career in medicine.

Instead, she’d gone on to join the ranks of the Thesan’s aerial unit, the Peregryns, where she had honed both her healing craft and her weaponry skills to become one of the most talented swordswomen the Dawn Court had ever seen.

Lovely, rare, _and_ skilled in combat.

It hadn’t taken very long before the Illyrians had heard of her.

And they were not above using violence and underhanded tactics to take what they wanted.

Despite the fairly strict conditions that the Night Court relegated the Illyrians to, every now and then, a few were able to slip out of their villages and cause trouble. Her father had been one of them. 

Cocky in an insufferable manner, Theon and two of his fellow warriors had flown across court borders to the Dawn Court, curious to see the healing dove that was so famed and worshipped by the Peregryns. Still riding the high of completing the Blood Rite and being crowned Oristian just a few weeks earlier, there was _nothing_ that would have held them back.

They were male warriors, after all. What was a small female going to do to them?

Theon and his warriors had caught sight of Arista when she'd been healing a wounded Peregryn, pricking her finger and allowing a bead of blood to drip into a bloody gash on the soldier's thigh. The Illyrians had watched in awe as the wound stitched itself back together in less than a minute, leaving not a trace of a scar or raised flesh behind, just perfect, unblemished skin. 

Theon knew in that instance that he _had_ to have her. And nothing was going to prevent him from staking his claim.

They had watched and stalked Arista for the following two days, staying downwind from her location so that she wouldn’t be able to scent their presence, their large, bat-like Illyrian wings blending into the shifting shadows come nightfall.

It was a well planned attack; using a potent blend of Faebane and a sleeping draught purchased from the healer in their village, they’d subdued Arista and flown to the coniferous forests that surrounded Ramiel.

And Rin had been conceived on the eve of a new moon, a child kissed by the blackest night.

Theon and his friends had their fun, leaving Arista’s battered body in a pine strewn clearing, her wounds healing as the drug left her system, white feathers torn from her wings still drifting lazily about her.

Rin had never met her father and only knew him by name, her mother had chosen to keep her in the Dawn Court’s custody where she trained under her mother’s tutelage and became just as skilled in the arts of healing as well as combative tactics as Arista herself. Her black wings offered a peculiar upper hand in carrying out missions under the guise of night, something that Thesan used on various occasions. 

But then she’d been snatched when on a solo flight, attacked by three Illyrians her bastard father had sent for her, content to sell his only daughter to a Lord in Hybern for a handsome sum and a collection of cursed weapons.

Rin could remember the fear, taste the terror and coppery tang of her blood, hear the cruel laughter of the warriors, muffled by the Faebane they'd injected her with, slowing her defensive movements as she tried and failed to reach the dagger she always kept sheathed to her thigh.

Could remember the feel of their too rough hands on her body, groping and squeezing and the carnal delight they’d felt upon forcing themselves on her drugged body before flying her across the sea to this vile island.

Hybern was a terrible place to be; under the King’s rule, he had let anyone take whatever they’d wanted from others by force. Land, money, wives, mothers, and children, the violence had never ended and the ground had been soaked in blood.

Blood… And other unsavory fluids. 

It was a wasteland when she’d arrived, having only caught a glimpse of the outside world before being sequestered down to the dungeon she’d occupied ever since, tolerating so many different men taking what they wanted from her body.

 _"Cut her! Watch how she heals herself. Fuck that pretty little cunt with a dagger and listen to her delicious screams even as her body heals itself over and over again!"_ Her owner had crowed, licking her blood off the blade he had just violated her with and shuddering in pleasure at the potency of the healing properties it carried.

They had taken such depraved delight in torturing her both physically and sexually. 

Her father had boasted about her blood’s healing abilities and the man who’d purchased her had delighted in the income he could generate by selling vials of her blood. For years he’d used her as a source of passive income and fuck toy.

Over the years, Rin had forgotten how many cruel, terrible tortures she’d been subjected to. Sodomy, rape, vicious assault with weapons or just their own hands, all coupled with the sadistic laughter of the ones who did it to her.

But even in this land full of greed and debauchery, the man who bought her - _her owner_ \- had found a mate, and her rapes had mercifully stopped.

When word of the King’s death had reached the shores, all havoc had broken loose. They’d come to collect her blood with a much higher frequency, her body becoming sluggish with how little blood they left in her. Rin had no desire to see what the island had become.

She didn’t have any clue as to how much time had actually passed since her capture, only knew that it was her Lord’s youngest son that had been relegated to coming down to her, to feed and take her blood back to his father. She’d been there long enough for all three of her owner’s sons to come wailing into this world.

Stellan was perhaps the only silver lining in her bleak existence in this Faebane laced cell; a scholar at heart, and with two older siblings to squabble over the inheritance that his father had amassed, he was left to his devices more often than not. 

It was because of him that Rin even had an idea of how much time had passed since her capture; he was due to turn a century old in a few days’ time. He was the only being that had shown an ounce of kindness to her; fed her extra portions when he could sneak it down here, had cleaned her on more than one occasion, speaking to her in a soothing timber when he’d finished taking as much blood as he dared.

He would sneak down here as often as he could, keeping her company for hours at a time as he read his books, sometimes reading them aloud to her so that she could rest from hearing her own breath rattling in her chest.

Other times, he would help her sit upright, dirtying his expensive scholar robes in the process just so that he could wash her and brush the snags out of her inky tresses. She could acknowledge it even if her glazed eyes had stared despondently at him. If she lived to get out of this hell, she would repay his benevolence and generosity back, she vowed.

Even with his unwarranted kindness though, Rin prayed for a swift death.

 _"I'm coming for you."_ That sinful, deep baritone crooned in her head. 

Death, she hoped, was merciful to her tired, tortured soul.

_“At long last..”_


	4. Chapter 4

Two days passed in a blur of last minute planning as Azriel got ready to rescue his mate. Rhys and Cassian were both coming with him on the journey to Hybern. 

Luckily for them, there was a small archipelago of rocky islands that was noted about halfway between Prythian and Hybern on the massive map that Rhys kept in his study at the River House. Rhys would winnow them to the islands where they would then fly the rest of the way to the capital of Hybern, Calvaire. 

The flight wouldn't take them long, a few hours at best. The main issue was going to be trying to locate where she was in a dungeon that had been reinforced with Faebane. Azriel knew that it was most likely going to be a larger home; she’d mentioned a Lord’s estate.

They were going to look for larger homes and manors that were near the capital. He’d tried to reach out to her for two days, only to be met with silence. For once in the five centuries he’d been alive, he cursed the silence; never before had it been an obstacle for him.

The River House was filled with movement as the three warriors prepared to leave; Nesta was going to stay at the house as well, alongside Mor, Amren, and Feyre; Nyx couldn’t have been in better, more over protective hands.

Rhys estimated that the trip itself shouldn’t take more than a day; considering the six hour flight to Hybern from the rocky islands that he was going to winnow them to, that left them with about twelve hours to find and extract her.

Azriel stood in the grand foyer, lost in thought as Cassian and Rhys bade their mates goodbye.

Elain was mysteriously missing from the group of women standing on the upper mezzanine, tiny little Nyx in Mor’s arms, his small wings, not yet filled with the cartilage and bone that would give them any strength, twitched as he watched his father leave with star-kissed eyes.

Ever since Rhys had announced what the mission was, the extraction of whom they all thought to be Az’s mate from Hybern, the middle sister had done everything she could to avoid him.

Gone were the sneaking glances at dinner, the slight intake of air from her dainty lips when he met her gaze, the delicate blush that stained her cheeks.

He would seek her out to clear the air once he returned. There was always a chance his mate bond wouldn't be a suitable match.. 

At Rhys’ voice, Az and Cassian, both in their Illyrian leathers and armed to the teeth, clasped a hand on their brother’s shoulders before being swept into the disorienting travel of winnowing.

A blur of colors and scents assaulted them for a single breath before cold sea spray rained down on them as they plummeted for the rocky shores of the islands. In a synchronized upsweep of wings, the three Illyrian warriors soared skywards. Without skipping a beat, they all set out in the direction of Hybern, their wings making hardly any noise against the sound of the waves crashing against each other.

It was a good day to fly, the cool breeze created a steady current that their wings swept over, minimizing the amount of effort on their part considering how fast they were flying. An hour passed in companionable silence as they fell into the rhythm of a long flight; at the speed they were going, the three warriors would be able to fly for far longer than the six hours to Hybern. If it had been a pressing matter of urgency, they’d have been able to fly for over a day without much repercussion. 

With the sound of the waves and the scent of salt keeping him alert, Azriel let his mind probe that persistent darkness, looking for the voice of his mate.

_“Are you there?_ ”

It was silent for a heartbeat before he heard the response, far clearer this time.

_“Yes...who are you?”_

He considered what to say before deciding to withhold his suspicions about their potential mate bond.

_“You requested for someone to help you.”_

_“Are you..an actual person?”_

Azriel blinked in confusion before turning his attention inward to answer her.

_“Indeed. Were you not expecting a person?”_

_“I was expecting death, but I did not think death would be able to answer my queries.”_ Her voice carried a hint of amusement beneath that broken rasp.

Azriel let out a wry laugh; Death, indeed. He’d been named death itself on various occasions over the years, his method of _gathering information_ from prisoners was a well known, and well feared, reputation.

_“Would it amuse you to know that I have been called Death on multiple occasions?”_

He could have sworn he heard her laugh—a throaty, almost sensual sound that made his chest tighten with longing. _Fuck,_ he wanted to hear that sound over and over again.

_“The Mother truly loves to humor my words.”_ She responded, her voice a bit clearer as they passed the second hour of the flight.

_“It seems you were not quite specific enough in your request.”_ Azriel chuckled darkly before continuing on. _“Can you tell me where exactly you are?”_

He could hear her go quiet for a moment as she contemplated her answer.

_“While I am no longer certain where the estate is, I do know that my owner is Lord Belvoire.”_

He bristled, his shadows wreathing themselves around his shoulders and ankles at that word. _Owner_.

_“ Owner?” _ He spat the word out as though it were venom, the slivers of darkness that made up his soul flaring at the sudden bloodlust that roared in his head. He would _kill_ anyone who _dared_ lay claim to her.

She was silent, sensing his abrupt change in temperament. _“I was sold. A long time ago.”_

Her words made him want to rain violence on the ones who had dared to deem her as something to be sold, claimed, or _owned._ Truth Teller ached to be drenched in blood, to hear the familiar song of his victims weeping, their final breaths rattling in a chest punctured by broken ribs. 

A vicious growl rumbled in his chest, low and threatening.

At the sound, Rhys and Cassian both drew closer to him, as close as their impressive wing spans would allow.

“Az?” Cassian prompted, gliding on the cold air current with long, easy downstrokes.

“ _She was sold. That’s why she’s in Hybern_ ,” Azriel snarled lowly, feeling his muscles coil with tension, the urge to rip something or _someone_ apart clouding his head. This rage, it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before; fueled with the urge to _protect_ that made him want to go on a murder spree and kill and kill and _kill_ until he dripped in the blood of her enemies.

_Is this what Rhys and Cassian felt when their mates were in danger?_

_"It was a long time ago."_ Her voice floated into his head, her tone soft and submissive as though realizing that his anger that she could undoubtedly sense was directed towards the ones who'd wronged her. 

_"I've been alive for a long time. My enemies rarely continue to exist once I set my gaze upon them."_ Azriel responded to her, inhaling the salty air through his nose and exhaling out his mouth, fighting to regain that notorious control he was so renowned for. 

_"There are three sons,"_ She said suddenly. The swift change in topic caught him off guard before an ember of possessiveness flared brightly in the cold, dark abyss of his soul. The purely primal instinct to keep her away from other males made him curl his lip in a brooding, silent scowl. 

_"The two older ones and my own—my apologies—my Lord… I don't care what happens to them. But the youngest one… He's the only one who has shown me an ounce of kindness."_

_"Are you asking for me to… spare him?"_ Azriel clenched his jaw, feeling the pounding of his pulse reverberate inside his head at the mere _thought_ of letting anyone in that estate leave with their lives intact. 

The image of flooding the wide halls with blood had his mouth curving up into a wicked, savage grin. 

"Truth Teller is going to make an appearance tonight," Rhys noted dryly, catching the look Az had on his face—the very same one he wore when a victim was exceptionally stubborn in withholding information. 

Az gave him an unamused look before turning his attention back inwards to hear his mate's reasoning. 

_"Yes. I am asking you to spare him. If you're able to assist him as well, please help him."_ Her response was firm if not a bit cautious as well. 

By this point, they were about halfway through the flight. It seems as though the closer he was to her physically, the stronger their mental connection was. He could sense her feelings and emotions more clearly than before, though there was still an oppressive cloud around the connection—a side effect of the Faebane, he was certain. 

He said nothing to her, wrestling internally with the ridiculous primal instincts of a male seeking to protect what was _his_. 

_"I'll...consider it."_ He finally ground out, his jaw popping with the force of him grinding his teeth, fighting against his desire to see that everyone in that estate suffers. 

_"Another thing—when you step into my cell, don't be… alarmed at what you see."_ She said hesitantly. Instantly the urge to protect nearly drove him to abandon his brothers and use his Shadowsinging abilities to get to her faster. 

_"What is that supposed to mean?"_

_"While my mind is mercifully clear of Faebane to speak with you, my body is not as fortunate,"_ She hedged tentatively and he could almost imagine her wincing at the way her own words sounded though he did not have a single idea as to what she looked like or what to expect. 

_"How bad?"_ Az growled, aware of the way his scarred hands were flexing at the idea of snapping necks, eager to feel the life drain from his enemies bodies as he carved a pathway to her. The first priority was to get her out of that Faebane laced hell and into the Night Court's custody. He would pass her off to Rhys or Cass before letting that roiling darkness that threatened to consume him wreak havoc. 

The only thing that pounded in his head was to _get to his mate._ That primal instinct roared to see to the fact that she was safe and sound. 

Protected. 

Out of harm's way. 

And then, _and only then_ , would he backtrack and see to the absolute decimation of everyone that had harmed her. 

He would painstakingly, _meticulously_ , reduce the estate and its occupants to blood stained rubble on the ground.

She sighed into his head, a soft little sound; submissive in a way that made the egoistic _male_ inside of him want her to writhe beneath him. 

_"I most likely won't be cognizant until a few hours after the collar comes off and -"_

His face turned thunderous and he noted the fact that both Rhys and Cassian veered away inconspicuously as his shadows wound up his calves and around his wings, a circlet of darkness forming upon his brow. 

_"_ _Collar?_ _"_

She stayed quiet for a heartbeat. He could hear the hesitation in the silence before she spoke. 

_"It's a five point restraint system. Collar, wrist cuffs, and ankle cuffs. All Faebane reinforced iron."_

She said it in a rush, and he could almost imagine her lowering her eyes in a submissive gesture, long lashes brushing her cheekbones, bracing for his anger. 

_And he was beyond angry._

_He was furious._

_"The consideration has jumped out the window. Everyone in that estate suffers. The youngest son will be lucky if he escapes unscathed."_ He growled, both to her and to his brothers, his voice hardly more than a guttural snarl. 

_"Perhaps Death was an apt nickname,"_ She mused softly. At her words, Az felt a slight wash of shame; was he acting too much on her behalf? 

The Illyrian in him bristled at that; all it wanted was to see their mate safe and to murder anyone who threatened her wellbeing. 

There was nothing wrong with that... _was there?_

_“No, nothing is wrong with that.”_ Rhys’ voice. He cast a brooding glare at his brother and Lord, Rhys’ star flecked eyes were bright with bemusement despite the severity of the situation.

_“You saw me when Feyre was nearly lost while birthing Nyx,”_ His eyes turned wistful, as if thinking back to a long forgotten memory despite it being only a few scant months ago. _“For a moment, I hated my own son; hated him for causing my mate such irreversible pain. I wanted to kill him, my own heir,_ _my child_ _, for making her shed a tear.”_

Az met Rhys’ gaze and knew he understood. He turned his attention back inwards but his mate beat him to breaking that tenuous silence.

_“Someone is coming.”_ She stated, weariness lacing her tone. The instant dread that welled in Azriel’s stomach made him beat his wings down in strong, steady motions, propelling him through the salt scented winds. Cassian and Rhys both kept pace with him, the three of them speeding towards the distant speck of land on the horizon that indicated their arrival to the other Fae inhabited island.

_“I’m nearly there. Hold on.”_ He ordered; that irrational fear lancing up his spine that made him push his body harder, his wings creating a _whoosh_ of air so strong, he could hear it clearly over the crashing waves that blurred beneath them as though it were a thunderclap. _“Stay safe.”_ He added as a slight after thought, his voice softening.

She chuckled darkly in his head before falling silent, that strange aura of being muted intensifying around their connection and Azriel _knew_ that she’d just been injected with Faebane.

He let out a curse before looking at his brothers; Rhys and Cassian were waiting on his command and he looked towards that island, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Time’s up. We need to get there. _Now_.”

~o0o~

Rin could hear that someone was coming down the stairs, that spiral staircase leading deep into the dungeons beneath the estate allowed the echoes of heavy boots to ricochet off the concrete blocks that she’d known for so many years.

Through her glazed eyes, she could see the flicker of firelight—a torch.

The person finally made it into her field of vision and if she could gasp, she knew she would have.

Stellan was bleeding heavily from a wound she couldn’t see, his face an artist’s palette of purples, blues, and deep burgundy. There was a deep smear of black beneath one eye that indicated a potentially broken orbital bone, the lid swollen shut around one of his analytical brown eyes. His scholar robes were dirtied and ripped in some areas and the fingers of the hand that wasn’t holding the torch were bent at a terrible angle.

He fell to his knees at her side, shakily drawing the needle with its tip coated in the Faebane anesthetic. She watched with seemingly unseeing eyes as he pulled the needle out, not withdrawing any blood or making a move to insert the tube that she’d become so accustomed to. Instead, Stellan looked at her with an apology in his eyes as he swiped the bead of blood that came to the surface, removing the shoulder of his robe to show an extensive and horrific burn. He dabbed the blood to the wound and let out a shaky moan of relief as its healing properties went to work, healing the singed skin and stitching it back together.

He grimaced to himself before gritting his teeth, using the hand with no broken fingers to set the crooked fingers straight, a groan of pain leaving his lips as his innate expedited healing abilities set about repairing the shattered bones. 

Stellan looked at her before pulling the ring of keys that held the only keys to her cell on it. He reached around her throat, using one of the keys to unlock the collar. It clattered to the cold ground, the sound of it reverberating around the filthy dungeon.

“They’re going to kill me. Soon. Tonight, I suspect,” Stellan murmured as he methodically reached the remaining restraints and unlocked those as well. Her skin was bleached a silky ivory from the iron cuffs and from the lack of sunlight for so many long decades. Rin could feel the Faebane from the needle beginning to recede; the tiny amount of it was really just a preemptive measure to keep her body’s healing properties from sealing the puncture too quickly.

“Father has figured out the...generosity I’ve bestowed upon you, his prized pet,” Stellan said softly, his burn wound nearly completely healed. He lightly dabbed the remainder of what was on his fingertip to the various cuts and bruises on his face, the superficial wounds closing in record timing.

Rin, for the first time in years, was able to look around the room, her eyes still vaguely unseeing but more awareness was coming to her. Things were still terribly fuzzy and she could barely move any single part of her body. Her throat bobbed, dry from the lack of water as she tried to generate enough saliva to warn Stellan, to get those damn words out.

Stellan was watching her, brows furrowed as he watched her try to convey something. He could see the panic that shone in her still disoriented eyes as they focused on him, her pale lips parting as she tried to say something to him.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Stellan questioned, running his eyes over her body, knowing that while she was still terribly weak, no physical wound ailed her at the current moment.

She let out a pitiful whine, frustration becoming evident as she tried to get her vocal words to cooperate.

“ _...h...ide_ ,” Rin finally croaked out, her tongue feeling thick and cumbersome in a mouth that hadn’t spoken in perhaps over a century.

“ _Hide?_ ” Stellan reiterated, confusion in his brown eyes as he watched her try to drag her arm to her head. He helped her, bringing her right hand to her face and she seemed to be grateful, before using a finger and tapping her temple.

“ _...res….cue…..coming,_ ” Rin whispered, feeling a sense of utter exhaustion creeping through her body; after being in a perpetual drugged state, her body began to shut down, needing a moment to recuperate before anything else could be done.

“Rescue? Who?” Stellan replied sharply, eyeing her wearily.

“... _me._ ” She said softly, her eyes shutting as she submitted to that darkness, more than willing to let her body rest.

And no sooner had she uttered that definitive word, before all havoc broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting intense! The next chapter will see to her rescue. What do you think her reaction will be?


	5. Chapter 5

The estate couldn’t have been more conspicuous if it had tried.

A sprawling manor that easily covered enough land for multiple families; built of a heavy, dark grey stone and what appeared to be concrete in some areas, the estate was clearly owned by someone powerful in the area.

Powerful for Hybern, perhaps. 

But no match for the High Lord of the Night Court.

Azriel scented the air, discerning who might live here. The scent of fae was present, though not strong in the way that a High Fae would have been. Lesser fae, then. He could smell other races as well; mortals, wraiths, and nymphs.

The three warriors flew towards the manor, the late afternoon sky just beginning to bleed into the jewel toned indigos and violets as night crept up on the island. Azriel swept his gaze over the compound, noting the different buildings and sections of the various wings that all sprouted off the main, centralized hall.

They landed on the flat rooftop of the main building and Rhys let a crumble of that world jarring power jolt the land, letting its occupants know that a Lord had arrived and he was absolutely not to be kept waiting.

As if the three of them waited for anything. Even as they heard the occupants scramble for cover, the hastened footsteps of someone climbing up a staircase caught their attention and a wooden door to their left slammed open.

A younger, mortal, male guard stepped out, wielding a bow with an ash arrow nocked into the oiled string, his fingers shaking and the terror on his face was nearly palpable. Rhys let a cold smirk cross his face as he sauntered over to the guard and knocked the bow out of his hand, taking the arrow and holding the point of it to the cowering guard’s throat.

“Two things,” Rhysand purred to the petrified guard, “One, I need to speak to the owner of this...chalet,” The High Lord of the Court of Nightmares said before pressing the point of the arrow a bit harder, drawing a thin line of blood across the guard’s pale throat, “And I need to know where your dungeon is.”

“D-d-d-dungeon?” The guard whimpered, a cry getting cut off by a soft gurgle as Rhys dug the arrow tip deeper, impatience evident on his face.

As Rhys toyed with the guard, Az had already been scoping out the compound, letting his shadows do the work in a shorter amount of time than if he were to do it himself. They returned after a few seconds, coiling around his shoulders and wrists, that circlet of darkness forming upon his brow, making him look like the king of the damned.

“Rhys,” He said his brother’s name. Hearing the tone and knowing that the guard was no longer needed, Rhysand stood smoothly to his full height, shoving the arrow through the guard’s throat without a second glance, the body slumping at his feet with eyes still wide open in fear.

“The dungeon is below the kitchen, past the wine cellar. One single staircase connects them all,” Az murmured, feeling the primal instinct to get to his mate roar through his blood, his cobalt siphons glimmering in the evening light.

“How do you want to do this?” Cassian questioned, cracking his neck as he withdrew his sword from its scabbard, the hiss of the polished metal against the leather sheath slicing through the air, his ruby siphons glowing with power.

“Extract her first, kill any and all that get in your way. Once she’s safe,” Azriel paused, letting some of that darkness that coiled so tightly around his soul to come forward, darkening his hazel eyes to a burnished amber and a wicked smirk to tilt his lips upwards, “once she’s safe, we can have some fun.”

Cassian let a savage grin spread across his face as he looked to his brothers. Without another word, the three of them flew into the staircase the guard had come out of. Once inside, Rhys loosened his power another notch, and the three Illyrians basked in the terror they wrought.

~o0o~

Stellan knew something was going on; could hear it in the screams of his father’s servants as they ran from something or someone. He looked at the unconscious woman that was laying on the filthy floor, dark hair a wild, tangled mess and her raven feathers were dull in the wan light of his torch.

Were they here for her?

There was a deafening ' _BOOM'_ and the ceiling above him shook, bits of debris and dirt raining down on them. Stellan made a split second decision, scooping up his father’s prized possession carefully before heading for the spiral staircase that was the only way out of this section of the dungeon.

He frowned at the woman in his arms; he was no warrior, but even he could tell that she was far lighter than what anyone should weigh, her black wings were a bit cumbersome as he adjusted his grip around them, letting their tips drag across the floor beside his slippered feet. He started up the stairs, muttering a soft prayer as he carried his family’s prisoner to the surface.

Stellan had never agreed with the way his father had treated her, but fear had always outweighed the potential consequences of aiding her and he hated himself for it. She had been nothing but nice to him - as nice as someone in a collar and cuffs around their wrists and ankles could be. He could have been delusional, but he could swear that she was still cognizant behind those unseeing golden green eyes.

He was nearing the level where the wine cellars were located and the screams of people fleeing whomever was here for her were still evident. Stellan could hear the tell tale sounds of a scuffle, even three levels below the manor, and he could certainly hear the definitive thuds of bodies hitting the wooden floors.

From above, Stellan could hear the heavy wooden door that led into the staircase shatter, the telltale sound of wood splinters raining onto the wooden floors echoing around the wine cellar he was in. He could hear someone running down those stairs, heavy boots signaling that they were probably one of the intruders.

A second later, Stellan was face to face with the man. 

Perhaps man was the wrong term to place on the person who stood in front of him.

A God would have been a more appropriate title.

 _A God of Death_.

Shadows wreathed around the male in front of him, a crown of them resting upon his dark brow, large, bat-like wings were folded in tightly to his back, broad shoulders filling out the opening to the wine cellar, and amber eyes that bored into his own before lowering to the female in his arms.

Stellan could see the instant that the protectiveness in him won over the rational side; could see it in the tightening of his face, the growl that was seconds away from leaving his lips.

Stellan kept his movements slow and precise as he slowly knelt to the dusty floor, his scholar robes brushed against the wooden floors as he offered the prisoner to the god that stood before him.

Immediately the stranger scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. A softened look crossed his face before he turned the hazel eyes back on Stellan. A flat, monotonous voice filled with shadows themselves came from the death god, echoing into the dusty air.

“Are you the youngest son?”

Stellan shivered at the way the voice seemed to shimmer with darkness before he looked up at the stranger, still kneeling on the floor. He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. The male regarded him thoughtfully, really _looked_ at him for a heartbeat before speaking again.

“You will be spared, only because she,” The male nodded to the woman in his arms, still blissfully unconscious to what was happening around them, “warned me to spare you.”

Stellan let out a breath of air, unaware that he’d been holding it at all. _So she had been aware of the kindness he tried to show her_.

Before he could think of anything else, another resounding _CRACK_ split the air, the building shaking on the very foundations it was built on. The death god seemed unfazed as he turned back towards the staircase, his wings shifting a bit and Stellan could have sworn he saw the darkness itself respond to his movements.

“If you make it out of here unscathed, make your way to the Night Court in Prythian. My lord will see to the repayment of your efforts to save her.” The male rumbled, his voice a silky purr into the dimness of the cellar. With that, he melted into the darkness.

And Stellan was alone.

~o0o~

Azriel strode through the estate’s wide halls, the vision he had earlier during the flight of flooding the halls with blood coming true; his boots were coated in blood, the scent of iron and rust permeated the air. His scarred hands were stained red, Truth Teller gleaming ruby in the sheath on his thigh; the cursed blade hummed in delight at the destruction they’d carved through the estate.

He looked down at the female in his arms, wrapped in his cloak since her _owners_ had deigned to not give her any real clothing. Az had only taken a moment to look at her, but knew that he had to deal with the situation at hand before focusing his attention and effort on her.

Rhys’ voice echoed in the heavy silence of his head. _“Did you retrieve her?”_

_“Yes, I did.”_

Rhys left his head at the confirmation and Az took a glance around at the carnage that surrounded him before giving himself to the shadows he’d wreathed around him, using the shadows to travel to where his brothers were currently corralling some of the other servants out of a side door, telling them to _run_.

They too, were soaked in blood.

Though they all knew that some...sacrifices were to be made before they came here. They minimized it as much as they could, killing only the ones who posed a threat or stood in their way.

Many of the servants could take one look at them and cowered; those were the ones who managed to survive. The ones who thought to defend the vile man who had _purchased_ his mate? They perished, their blood still slicking the boots of the Night Court warriors and their bodies cooling in mangled heaps.

Once the last servant, a mortal woman that was beginning to show the signs of her age, had left through the door, Rhys and Cassian both turned to face him, their eyes immediately being drawn down to the woman in his arms.

The estate was eerily silent around them as the three warriors peered down at the woman, her raven hair a tangled mess and the tips of her raven feathered wings just visible above the cloak that Az had wrapped her in. Luxurious, thick lashes cast long shadows across her cheekbones, more prominent than what was perhaps healthy. Her eyes were closed so they had no way of knowing her eye color, though the tips of her ears were pointed, indicating High Fae blood.

Az silently handed her off to Rhys, unsheathing Truth Teller in a smooth motion as he stepped away, his shadows beginning to creep around his shoulders, wrists, and ankles.

“I’ll meet you outside once I’m finished.” He murmured, letting himself sink into that laser focused clarity that had kept him alive for over five centuries. Without another word, Rhys slipped out the same door that they had herded the survivors to earlier and took to the skies, his large, black wings blending into the star flecked night.

Cassian looked back to him, nodding his head once as though to say that they would slaughter everyone else here together.

The two Illyrians set off down the main hall, stalking through the sticky pools of blood towards the last wing of the compound they hadn’t yet breached.

Azriel looked to Cassian and when he dipped his chin in understanding, he faded into the shadows, using them as a portal to slip unnoticed into the throne room where the Lord of the estate sat hunched on his throne, a myriad of guards waiting with bated breath for the door to open. Azriel wound his way to the back of the throne room, standing casually behind the Lord before he leaned down, his voice a sliver of pure darkness.

“Were you waiting for me?”

The lord balked, turning in his seat to try and attack him but Azriel let a decadent laugh cut the air before he pressed Truth Teller to the lord’s pudgy throat. The doors slammed open and before the guards could turn to pivot and face the new danger, Cassian was upon them, cutting and slicing, moving with a grace that one wouldn’t have been able to think he was capable of despite his bulky size.

Azriel held Truth Teller to the lord’s throat, taking in the terribly beady brown eyes, filled with anger and hate, his skin a sallow tone and his thick fingers clenching the arm rests of his throne. 

“I wonder how you’ll react to the knowledge that your entire estate runs red with blood because you made a _terrible_ purchase,” Azriel crooned to the Lord, choosing to hide the fact that his youngest son had survived and been left to escape. The Lord flinched at the sheer iciness in his tone.

“You wanted that pathetic little bitch?” The Lord managed to sneer, his face contorting in disgust and hatred. Azriel could feel the mate bond react, the possessiveness that roared in his blood demanded _justice_ for how this man, _her owner_ , had treated her.

“Call her a bitch one more time,” Azriel growled, digging Truth Teller into his throat, carving a thin little cut into one of the many rolls of his neck. The Lord grinned at him, showing yellowed teeth as he replied.

“Where were you when I cut her, hm? Raped her? Felt that cunt ripple around my cock and her screams that echo -,” The Lord taunted and Azriel couldn’t have controlled the way that Truth Teller surged in his hand, burying itself to the hilt in the man’s throat, cutting off the rest of his words with a gurgle of blood.

A glance around the throne room would have told him that Cassian was done with disposing of the rest of the guards, his sword slicked in crimson. Azriel ripped Truth Teller through the Lord’s throat savagely, decapitating the head from the body in one movement. The head fell with a thud to the bloodied floors and then the room was silent.

Cassian exhaled to himself, swishing his sword through the air to clean as much of the blood as possible before sheathing it. Azriel kicked the Lord’s head once before shouldering past Cassian to the open doors, flaring his wings in a more relaxed stretch.

“My mate is in our custody now. Let’s go home.”

~o0o~

The flight to the rocky islands was silent, Rhys and Cassian opting to stay quiet and leave Az to his own thoughts, his mate curled against his chest, still wrapped in his cloak to shield her from the cold, salty winds.

She was still breathing, so that was a good step. His hazel eyes skimmed over the planes of her face, taking in the full lips and arched brows; in the wan light from the moon above them, her hair gave off a bluish hue and her skin seemed to glow a milky white.

He could see the tips of her wings, curious as to how she’d come to have wings that looked like the Peregryns of the Dawn Court, yet the coloring of them was similar to the Illyrians. The tops of her ears were pointed, not quite so pointed as the rest of the High Fae he knew, but they were certainly more pointed than his own rounded ears.

Azriel was so lost in studying the details of her face that when he had glanced up to survey his brothers and see how they were doing, he was surprised to see that the rocky archipelago was fast approaching.

 _“I’ve instructed Feyre to start a hot bath for her in your room at the River House,”_ Rhys’ voice murmured into his head. Azriel nodded once, indicating his thanks before the three Illyrians settled onto the rocky sands of the islands, Azriel and Cassian both clapping a hand to Rhys’ shoulders before they were winnowed away.

They landed on the front lawn of Rhys’ sprawling home, the front doors opening quickly and the three warriors could see Feyre beckoning for them to come inside, Nesta and Mor right behind her. Rhys stooped to place a gentle kiss to Feyre’s forehead, whispering his greetings to his mate which she brushed off, coming to Azriel’s side and looking up at him with her blueish-grey eyes.

“Let me,” She said softly, using her Fae strength to lift the small female from his arms. Her mate and Cassian stood by in case the mate bond made him react adversely at having her taken away so soon. He looked at them and shook his head once; he was not going to lose control. The mate bond was satisfied now that she was in their custody.

“There’s food in Rhys’ study. Rest and eat; you can come to your rooms after she’d been cleaned and dressed,” Feyre stated, turning to head back into the house and up one of the elegantly curving staircases in the foyer. She disappeared around the corner with his mate, Mor following her. He followed behind Rhys and Cass wordlessly to the study, taking in the spread of food that was on the low glass table, accompanied by jugs of water and wine.

The three of them sank down into the couch and armchairs, a tired, weary sigh leaving from all of them. Azriel was surprised to note how exhausted his body was; the muscles around his chest that were directly connected to his wings ached after so much use and for the first time, he saw how much blood was on him.

Dried gore was stuck to his tan skin, and his Illyrian leathers were coated in blood. He glanced at his brothers, only to see both of them taking stock of their own aches and bruises. As one, they all stood up again, heading in the direction of various bathrooms, choosing to clean up before having a meal.

Once showered and dressed in fresh clothing, they regrouped in the study, enjoying a meal of a hearty beef stew and crusty bread that the chef in the kitchen had prepared for them.

“What do you think of her?” Cassian broke the silence after the dirtied dishes had been cleared, leaving behind their goblets of wine. Azriel hummed to himself for a moment before answering.

“She’s malnourished, that’s for certain. I won’t be able to come to a conclusion until I have a face to face conversation with her. I suspect that we’ll be talking quite a bit as we nurse her back to full health,” Azriel responded, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a contemplative sip.

At that moment, Feyre chose to enter the study, a sleepy Nyx in her arms as she went to stand next to her mate.

“She’s cleaned and dressed. Mor and I have placed her in your bed,” Feyre said, passing off the sleepy child to his father. Az stood, stretching the muscles in his back and legs.

“Thank you, Feyre. For everything,” He murmured, leaving the study and heading up to his designated room at the River House. Isolated to the eastern wing, the one that faced the mountain where the House of Wind sat, his room was the only one on this side of the house, tucked away next to a tea room and Feyre’s in-home studio. It was quiet, just how he always preferred it.

He stepped into his bedroom, greeted by the residual scent of ginger and jasmine from the soaps used in the bath. His hazel eyes going straight to the massive bed, where his mate lay, curled beneath the thick, black duvet.

Now that she was clean, he could see that she was actually incredibly lovely to look at; a perfect depiction of a black and white painting, tucked into his bed. Her skin was such a pale alabaster and it looked so out of place in the darkness that he was so used to surrounding himself in. Aside from her skin though, everything about her was composed of the same shadowy blackness that _made_ him. Her raven feathered wings were carefully stretched out, no doubt by the hands of Feyre; they looked as though they had been thoroughly cleaned as well.

Sighing to himself, he strode to the small sitting area that was adjacent to his bed and settled into an armchair with a clear view of his bed. He made himself comfortable and resigned himself to a night of watching and waiting.

As usual, silence accompanied him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think so far? I have midterms coming up so I'm sorry if the next update is a bit delayed T^T
> 
> Next chapter will finally see Rin and Az meeting for the first time. How do you guys think that'll go?


	6. Chapter 6

For the first time in a very long time, Rin could open her eyes.

She didn’t, not right away. But she let her mind take inventory of everything. Years of being left alone meant that she had become very well acquainted with her body and could pinpoint the tiniest inconsistency - though that could also be backtracked to her Healer training. 

You would be surprised at just how much information you could garner from the senses outside of sight.

The most prominent being the rain soaked cedar scent that filled her senses. It was a deliciously dark scent; predominantly masculine in its musk but there was a subtle femininity to it. Another scent that complimented the cedar and made it smell like the hours after midnight and before dawn, dew soaked and silent.

Rin kept her breathing steady, inhaling and exhaling in the same pattern as though she were still slumbering, letting a small, breathy sigh escape her lips. Her wings were extended, the muscles that tethered them to her back and chest ached with tension and soreness; she hadn’t been able to extend her wings since she was captured all those years ago - doubted that she could extend them on her own with the muscles being so pitifully atrophied.

Wasted away for years, perhaps decades and centuries, truthfully.

Beneath her, she could feel something plush—a _bed?_

_She hadn’t lain on a bed in such a long time._

Finally, _finally_ , Rin blinked open her eyes. She had perhaps been expecting sunlight but that was not what she opened her eyes to. Darkness shrouded the room she was in; tastefully decorated in tones of blue and black, she could see through the heavy curtains that no light was peeking through - was it night time?

How long had she been out?

_Where was she??_

“You’re awake.”

Rin froze, feeling fear prickle her awareness at the voice before she forced her body to relax. She _knew_ that voice. It was the same one that had spoken to her in her head.

She shifted, or tried to anyway; her body failed to comply with her demands and she could only barely turn her head in the direction of the voice, searching for its owner. And who she saw..

_Holy Cauldron._

The male that lounged in an armchair in the room’s sitting area had _no right_ to look as sinful as he did. Tousled black hair, gleaming hazel eyes that were locked on her; they bordered on a burnished amber in the dim lighting. Chiseled cheekbones, a strong, straight nose, full lips.

_A jawline she wanted to lick_.

He stood and Rin blinked in astonishment; he was _tall_ , broad shoulders, and were those...were those _wings?_

She caught a sliver of movement, her eyes sliding to his shoulders, where a curiously writhing ball of darkness seemed to watch her. The god stalked closer to her where she lay on a bed of black, sat on the edge, his wings shuffling with the movement. His gaze softened as he ran his analytical eyes over her before coming back to focus on her face. Some part of her felt drawn to him, wanted to be near him; she knew she would be safe with him.

“How are you feeling?”

Rin blinked again, basking for just a heartbeat in the deep baritone, almost flat in the way he spoke yet not quite; it sounded as though the night itself had taken an audible form and had chosen to caress her pointed ears with its presence.

She opened her mouth, surprised that it felt like she could speak.

“You must be Death,” Rin finally stated, searching in her mind for a way to put her thoughts and questions into as little words as possible; her throat still felt tender and sore. The male blinked in surprise at the sentence, a curious little smirk curving the corner of his lips. 

He chuckled lowly, darkly—the sound made terrible thoughts run through her head for a moment before she shoved them away to be dealt with later. She let her golden-green eyes look over him in closer detail now that he was close enough to touch. He was dressed in all black, a turtleneck that had cutouts for his wings. The fabric looked rich—cashmere perhaps. Black pants adorned his long legs, what looked to be a sheath was strapped to his thigh, the gleam of a dagger peeking out of the leather. 

He fell silent, taking in the way that she looked over him, her eyes, which were an intense green on the outer rings that bled into a stunning, analytical gold near her pupils, stopping momentarily at the sight of his scarred hands. She continued on without really looking at them though, and he was relieved to find that no pity clouded her gaze.

“Do I get the privilege of knowing your name?” He asked softly. Rin would have done anything to curl up next to him, but her body was absolutely not in the place to move, let alone cuddle up next to a stranger.

“Um, right. My name is Rin,” She replied, meeting that hazel gaze. The candle that was on the bedside table cast warm flame light into his eyes, making them look more like melted honey. _Holy Mother_ , she could have stared into those molten pools for hours if he let her. 

“Rin,” He repeated, tasting the way her name came off the tongue. He caught her involuntary shiver as he said her name again and the male in him _preened_ —he couldn’t _wait_ to make her shiver and come undone in more ways, though that was getting way, _way_ ahead of himself. 

“You might know me as Death, but my name is Azriel,” He replied to her unanswered query. 

“Azriel,” Rin replied, enjoying the way it rolled off her tongue so naturally—as though she had always been meant to say his name. She shifted, attempting to sit up and failed miserably, her muscles terribly weak and had they been in the daylight, he would have seen the flush that stained her cheeks in embarrassment. 

Azriel helped her though, his scarred hands gently helping her to sit up, rearranging her wings in a way that he knew would be more comfortable. He didn’t miss the slight inhale of air from her when he touched her wings; ordinarily that would have been a spot considered off limits, but he was confident that her comfort outweighed the stereotypical rules of handling another individual's wings that were not your own.

“Would you like any food or drink?” He asked softly once she’d been situated in a comfortable, upright position. She was so painfully thin; her collarbones jutted out in an unhealthy manner, her cheekbones were just a bit too sharp, and he knew from carrying her during the flight back that she was much lighter than someone should have been.

She looked at him, and he saw a flicker of cold steel in her dual toned eyes; not quite distrust, but the look of someone who still wasn’t quite comfortable in their new surroundings, as though she were waiting for the other shoe to drop. He understood it, had seen the look in his own eyes centuries ago, when he’d been unceremoniously dropped off in Windhaven.

“Um, a bowl of broth would be lovely—I was kept on a primarily liquid diet when I was...there,” Rin replied, fidgeting with her fingers that were clasped in her lap, her eyes downcast. “I’m certain that it’ll be...some time before I’ll be able to stomach solid food again.”

Azriel nodded to himself, sending one of his shadows to find Nuala or Cerridwen—one of the twins would relay the order to the chef in the kitchen. There was a silence between them before Azriel chose to pour her a glass of water from the carafe on the bedside table. He handed it to her and she took it gratefully, sipping on the cool water.

“Are you Illyrian, by chance?” Rin questioned, raising her eyes to look at him from over the rim of her drinking glass. Azriel was entranced by the golden green of her eyes for a heartbeat, clear from the haziness of being under Faebane, before he remembered to answer.

“Yes, I am Illyrian,” He responded carefully, noting the way her face seemed to darken, that cold steel falling into place around her, jading her. Azriel felt his heart clench at the way she seemed to shift away from him slightly, the darkness he was certain that lived in her coming forward.

“Illyrians were the ones who...sold me,” Rin whispered, her fingers clenching the glass of water tightly. From beneath her lashes, she could see the absolute stillness that overcame Azriel, the cold, deadly fury that emanated from his suddenly tense muscles — _not_ that she was looking at his muscles with any level of scrutiny.

"Do you have names?" Azriel questioned, trying to limit the amount of rage he felt at the prospect of Illyrians kidnapping her and taking her to Hybern. Rin shook her head slowly, her thick curtain of raven hair swishing against her back. 

"No, but I do know that it was my father who sent them. He is… was an Illyrian Lord. I actually have no clue if he's even alive anymore—I've never had the displeasure of meeting him," Rin replied softly, biting her lip softly. She could feel his gaze, drawn to the motion of her worrying her lower lip between her teeth—saw the way he dry swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement. 

There was _certainly_ a level of attraction between them, and one she had an inkling was based on what was most likely a mating bond. Rin wasn't going to be the first person to say anything though. Once she was back to full health was when that conversation could take place. There was no other way to describe the pressing desire to be near this god of a male. 

"Do you know his name?" His voice was a cold, shadowy thing, the type of sound that Death shied away from. Rin shivered involuntarily at the tone, her body warming, which was precisely the _opposite_ reaction that a person should have to a voice that promised a punishment or torture. 

Oh… But a punishment at his hands seemed like a _very_ good idea. 

She'd always been a glutton for punishment. 

Azriel watched the way she looked towards the window, her eyes slightly distant, what looked to be a flush on her collarbones, as though she weren't really here at this moment. "His name is Theon. Lord Theon." 

Azriel went stock still at her reply—Theon was very much still alive. He was one of the more… Unruly Lords that oversaw Windhaven alongside Devlon. They trained other, younger Illyrians, but he had never ceased to be a thorn in Rhys' side over the years. 

Bloodthirsty, sadistic, _bastard._

Who sold his only daughter? 

_For what price?_

Azriel made a mental note to see Theon himself. He was, perhaps, overdue for a visit to Windhaven anyways. The darkness in him reared its ugly head, the prospect of bloodshed exciting him. 

"Your father… is still alive, though I'm not sure if that's the response you were hoping to get," Azriel responded quietly, his eyes fixated on her as she let a weary sigh escape her plush lips. 

"I… Had a feeling that he was still alive. He has never made the attempt to do anything of the fatherly nature, in fact, he probably did the very worst thing a father could do outside of just killing me," Rin said, turning those dual toned eyes on him; for a second, Azriel couldn't _think_ —couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but drown in the sorrow of those golden green eyes. 

It was, perhaps, in that moment that Azriel vowed to kill Lord Theon. He wasn't sure when, where, or, truthfully, _how_ —there were too many options that jumped to the forefront of his mind—but he was going to _end_ him for daring to misplace any level of parental trust in the woman in front of him. 

A soft knock split the air. 

Both he and Rin looked up as the door opened. Feyre walked in with a tray, a bowl of steaming bone broth with what appeared to be tendrils of lightly scrambled egg floated in it. It was the type of broth that one would give to someone who couldn't stomach solid foods just yet. 

Rin let a polite smile grace her face as Feyre set the tray down on the black duvet in front of her. 

"You must be the Lady of this house," Rin said softly, dipping her head in something of a bow to show respect. Feyre smiled back warmly, her golden brown hair in a thick plait that was tossed over one shoulder. 

"I am, you can just call me Feyre," His brother's mate replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. Rin thanked her for the broth, taking a moment to sip on it. The heat from it soothed her sore throat and she was fairly certain that she could keep the broth and the egg down well enough. 

"May I ask you a question?" Feyre asked once Rin had taken a few spoonfuls of soup. The raven haired woman nodded, setting the spoon down and taking a sip of water. 

"Your wings… may I ask why they resemble the wings of the Peregryns yet with the opposite coloring?" 

Rin blinked and cleared her throat before replying, "My mother is a Peregryn, hence the feathered wings, but my father," She slid her gaze to Azriel's once and he nodded in encouragement, "my father is Illyrian. He, um, he raped my mother."

Feure inhaled sharply at her words, her blue-grey eyes softening in pity. Rhys had to have filled her in about Rin’s situation with the kidnapping and being sold. She said nothing though, aware that pity was not a good thing to bring up in light of her answer. 

Feyre placed a hand on top of Rin’s, staying silent. The two women shared a look, one that could only be described as two victims who really _saw_ each other, and Azriel could see the respect that glinted in his mate's eyes. 

Feyre stood to leave them to their solitude, but before she could reach the door, Rin spoke suddenly. 

"Your little one isn't latching on very well during feeding times, is he?" Feyre turned, curiosity making her lift one arched brow. Rin met her gaze, nodding her head once to Feyre's chest. 

"And your nipples are a bit bruised, his teeth are starting to come in and they're quite sharp. A solution of comfrey and blood orange will help to soothe the pain and adding a bit of honey on the tip before he feeds will promote a stronger latch," Rin continued in, tilting her head slightly in a thoughtful manner. 

At the look of confusion both Azriel and Feyre gave her, she added. "I, um, was raised in the Dawn Court. Healing is our specialty. When you placed your hand on mine, I ran a full body diagnostics scan out of reflex—it takes about 5 seconds," Rin finished lamely, lowering her eyes in submission, a flush of red creeping across her collarbones. 

Feyre stepped towards the bed again, her mouth dropping open in amazement. "And you could tell this all from a _touch_?" 

Rin fiddled with her fingers that were clasped in her lap again before nodding. "Yes, it's something that almost all Healers trained in the Dawn Court can do, though the time for the scan can vary pending on the level of training they've completed." 

"Are you a fully trained healer?" Azriel questioned, running his eyes over her figure. Again, Rin nodded, biting that damnable bottom lip that made him want to do terribly wicked things to her. 

"Yes, I'm fully trained, though I'm sure there are new practices and diseases that I do not yet know about considering how long I've been… gone," Rin replied, busying herself with finishing off the bowl of broth. Once done, she took another sip of water, and before Feyre could take the tray back, the House vanished it away to be cleaned. 

"How long ago were you kidnapped?" Feyre asked softly, coming to stand at Azriel's shoulder. Rin looked at them both, sorrow mirrored in the dual toned depths of her eyes. 

"It's been… a long time. How long ago was The War?" Rin questioned; Azriel could see the way she tensed herself, her shoulders drawing inwards at the prospect of hearing their answer, of _finally_ knowing how long she'd been locked up, chained and used like an object. 

"It's been a little over 500 years now. 503 this fall," Azriel replied, his voice a shimmer of darkness in the air that separated them. Rin shuddered, trembling like a leaf as her eyes met his and he could see all of that darkness that she’d suffered through.

Alone.

Terrified.

Begging silently for someone to save her. 

" _Holy Cauldron_ , it's been that long? _503 years?_ " Rin let out a tiny laugh of disbelief, shaking her head in wonder. "I was kidnapped…" she paused, pursing her plush lips and cocking her head slightly as she calculated the years, "184 years ago." 

Azriel stopped breathing. 

And he could tell that Feyre was also in shock considering the sharp inhale of breath.

_184 years ago_. 

He had wondered why nearly two centuries ago, the darkness had seemed to grow worse. More oppressive, a silence so wholly encompassing he was certain he was going mad. 

Perhaps the bond between them ran deeper than just a spontaneous mental connection. It had to; for him to notice and _remember_ a change around the moment she was most distressed.. 

Feyre broke the silence first, finding her voice before Azriel could even begin to wrap his mind around the fact that his mate had known nothing but the nastiness of strange men touching her, _taking_ and _tarnishing_ what was his… 

He managed to leash that anger before it could make itself known. It was only thanks to that infamous control that his shadows hadn't wreathed around him, the thunderous growl that was a moment away from leaving his lips was trapped in his throat. 

"184 years ago? _Holy Hell,"_ Feyre breathed, her blue-grey eyes locked on the raven haired woman, her dual toned eyes looking at them with a small amount of both weariness and sadness; Azriel knew in an instant that his mate did not require their pity, nor did she even want it. She had survived it and that’s what she wanted others to see when they viewed her.

_Holy Mother,_ his mate was so much stronger than he could have ever imagined. 

To have tolerated that and to not have broken.. 

Or perhaps, she _had_ broken. 

Shattered into a million, brilliantly shimmering fractals. 

Being on the mend was _nothing_ to be ashamed of. 

"Immortality is both a blessing and a curse, it seems," Rin finished softly, turning her head away from them, choosing to stare where the window in his bedroom was. Azriel saw her blink once, twice, and when she turned back towards them, that icy steel was back around her, that tiny glimpse into her soul having passed. 

Feyre nodded, sensing that the moment was over. She turned to leave them, striding for the door before turning to address her once more. "Thank you for the tips, by the way. I'll be certain to try them." 

Rin plastered a wan smile on her lovely face; the meticulous court mannerisms the Dawn Court instilled in all their residents peeking through, "Please do. If you have any other questions, feel free to stop by. I can sense a kernel of Thesan’s power thrumming through your veins—the healing aspects should come naturally to you." 

Feyre blinked once in understanding before nodding, walking out of the room and closing the door behind her with a soft _'click'._

And then Azriel was alone with her once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the mates have finally met - do we have thoughts on them yet? I already know what direction I'll take with their dynamic but I'm curious as to what you guys think. Leave a review ~ 
> 
> Criticism is always welcome.
> 
> PS. I can't wait for the smut \o/ It's still quite a few chapters away but I'm dying to get to it.


	7. Chapter 7

184 years, as Rin found out, was quite a good bit of time for medical practices to update. To pass the long days that she stayed in bed to recover her strength, she'd asked Azriel to procure medical journals from the library of the House. 

She might as well put her powers to good use, shouldn't she? 

It would have been selfish otherwise. 

She hadn't told Azriel about her Absolute Alleviation yet; her mother had stressed for her powers to be kept a well guarded secret. It was by sheer, dumb luck that her father had found out that Arista's powers had been hereditary. 

She was a quick reader—always had been. Rin _devoured_ the medical journals, her green and gold eyes perusing the words, cataloging the new information and techniques to be explored later when she had the strength, time, and means to practice them. When she wasn't reading, she was carefully stretching her atrophied muscles, figuring out where she was weakest, which was, quite frankly, _everywhere,_ though the muscles that connected to her wings were easily the ones that bothered her the most. 

She longed to stretch them fully, to begin training her body to become the powerful, well oiled machine it had once been. _One step at a time,_ she had sighed internally.

In the evenings, Azriel always came to see her, his presence announced with a subtle knock to the door and when he walked into the room, he brought that midnight cedarwood scent with him. 

It was quickly becoming her favorite scent in the world. 

She wondered what it would be like to wake up to that scent, nestled in the comforting heat of strong arms, his breath tickling the baby hairs on the back of her neck, the light of the rising sun filtering in through the reddish skin of the wing he draped over her to keep her warm and safe. 

_Protected_. 

Baby steps, Rin had promised herself. They would get there. Eventually. She hoped, anyways.

They conversed at length about various topics, getting to know each other though they never brought up the subject of the mate bond—Azriel was content to let her decide when the bond was to be discussed. Where his brothers were not the most patient, he had nothing but time on his hands and waiting for Rin to gather her bearings was the least he could offer considering the circumstances. 

Two evenings following the conversation with Feyre found Az sitting comfortably on the couch of his River House room, paging through one of the numerous medical journals that he'd brought up for her to read. Rin was in the adjoined washroom taking a bath with the help of Feyre—she was still weak enough that she required help to move around and while he could tell Rin was getting frustrated, her body _was_ getting stronger. 

The walls in this wing of the House had been charmed to be soundproof, mostly for the benefit of Feyre's in home studio; she always preferred to paint in silence. So even if the females were conversing, Az would never be able to know what was said unless he spied on them. 

And _that_ was certainly not going to happen. 

If he was going to spy on her, it would be less about what she said to others and more about what she was doing. 

Or wearing. 

Or _not_ wearing. 

Az tilted his head back, resting it against the back of the sofa as illicit thoughts floated through the blackness of his mind. The mate bond roused from the dark recesses of his soul, warming his blood, made it flow south and he cursed inwardly when the front of his pants began to feel insufferably tight. 

He thought of the various methods of torture he used on his victims, tried to steer his mind away from the more carnal thoughts he had of his mate when he heard the door to the washroom open. In a _very_ calculated move, Az slid the still open medical journal to hide his arousal before flicking his hazel eyes up to meet the gaze of his mate. 

_Oh._

_The Cauldron was not making this easy for him._

Rin padded out on silent feet, her dark hair still damp and curling softly around her lovely face. She was dressed in an oversized tunic, one of his own he immediately recognized, that reached just past the middle of her thighs. Her wings glistened in the dim lighting, still slick from her bath. Her legs were bare. 

Feyre stepped out a moment later, guiding her slowly back to the bed. Once Rin was situated, Feyre bade them both goodnight and swiftly left to return to her own mate and bedroom on the other side of the House, a knowing smirk on her lips that he caught before the door shut. 

The smell of lavender and eucalyptus floated into the room, but beneath it, Azriel could scent what was probably his mate's personal fragrance. Jasmine and tonka bean, kissed by the sweet spiciness of honeyed ginger. 

She smelled like the darkest, sweetest sin and Az would have fallen to his knees right then and there to have a taste of her. 

_Holy Cauldron._

He wondered what she tasted like. Wanted to know the thrill of her thighs wrapped around him, her fingers tangled in his short raven locks, her cries of pleasure egging him on. 

_Soon,_ he vowed to himself. 

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts of wanting to taste her that he almost missed her question as she broke the comfortable silence of the room. 

Well, comfortable for her. _Extremely_ uncomfortable for him. 

"Did you find something interesting in one of the journals?" Rin asked, nodding her head in the direction of the open journal in his lap. From her vantage point on the low set bed, she couldn't see the fact that the journal was doing a fairly poor job at barely concealing his arousal and Az inwardly blew out a breath of relief. 

_Thank Mother for the arm rest that shielded him from her._

He cleared his throat, eyes dropping back to the pages of the journal to reread the notes. "This one talks about using bone marrow as the basis for creating seamless skin grafts." 

Rin hummed in response, raking her fingers through her damp hair and— _gods_ if Azriel didn't want to fist that lovely dark hair and _pull_ on it, let her head tilt back and expose the lovely column of her throat, free of any blemishes and begging to be covered in marks. 

_His marks._

He blinked to clear the image from his thoughts, locking it away for more private uses when she responded. 

"Mm, bone marrow is becoming an increasingly versatile base for a lot of medical practices from what I've read," Rin replied, her dual toned eyes meeting his hazel ones. "During my Healer Training, we were using tiny scrapings of skin to clone. It's still a viable option, though it takes much longer than using bone marrow from what they say. I've yet to see this practice in action so I can't speak on its efficacy." 

Azriel nodded, strategically using his hand to smooth the page of the journal, further concealing the extremely apparent bulge in the front of his pants. 

"The skin cell clone was an option for me when this happened," he stated, lifting up his left hand, the one that wasn't preoccupied with hiding his arousal, so she could see the puckered flesh that covered both of his hands. Rin said nothing for a moment, letting her eyes rake over the skin. 

Azriel had the most inane urge to put his hand down, embarrassment bleeding through his veins even though he steeled his nerves. He’d long since come to terms with the way his hands looked to others.

Rough, puckered scars still seemed to shine with the tightness of new skin that healed wrong. Pity was a common look that most people gave him. Horror usually followed when, or if, he told them the story behind the scars. Seldom few people knew the truth. 

"I saw it during our first meeting — I'm under the assumption that it’s the result of a pretty horrific burn. For your Illyrian Blood to not be able to fix it, it had to have been gruesome," Rin said softly, the pools of gold and green meeting his own hazel gaze. Azriel swallowed thickly, recalling the fear and pain and absolute _terror_ of the bubbling oil as his skin burned, the cruel laughter of his step brothers ringing in his ears. 

"It was an oil burn," He said softly, his eyes a bit distant as he thought back to that moment. He'd been eight years old at the time. 

_Eight._

No child should have had to deal with a pain like that, followed by the disgust of their own parent. Azriel held that thought for a few heartbeats before realizing _who_ the female sitting in his bed was and what she'd gone through. 

There was, perhaps, no singular person _more_ qualified to understand the trauma he went through than his own mate. 

".. Would you like me to heal it?" Rin questioned softly, tilting her head curiously at him. Azriel immediately locked eyes with her, his arousal a distant memory as she held his gaze; solemn and unwavering. 

"There's no way for these scars to heal. They've been with me for centuries." Azriel responded, his eyes roving over the puckered skin. He was no longer ashamed of them; they were simply a piece of him now. A part of him. 

Rin chuckled softly, the sound throaty and sensual without her meaning for it to be. "There's always a way," She patted the bed next to her, clearly asking for him to come and take a seat on the black duvet covers. 

Azriel stood, closing the medical journal that had been hiding his arousal from her before stalking to the bed, his wings shifting in a way that was a tell of discomfort. He settled on the bed and Rin immediately opened her palm, a request for him to place his hand in hers. 

Truth be told, Rin wasn't sure _why_ she was about to do this; she only knew that she _could_ and wasn't going to shy away from helping the person that the Mother _and_ the Cauldron had set her up with. 

Keeping her eyes on him, she lifted his hand to her lips, nicking him with one curiously sharp fang along the edge of his scars. It was a small incision, about half an inch long. Without skipping a beat, she pricked her own finger, and pressed their wounds together before either of their expedited healing abilities sealed the cuts. 

Azriel shuddered in pleasure, a strange euphoria clouding his senses for a handful of heartbeats before it was over. Glancing down at where her finger was pressed against the inside of his wrist, a smear of blood joining them together, he was shocked to see that beneath the red, his skin seemed to ripple before smoothing out to become the unblemished skin he hadn't seen in over five centuries. 

"How did you..?" Az murmured softly, amazement and wonder clouding his analytical hazel eyes. Rin pulled her finger away, bringing his wrist to her lips again to run her tongue against the tiny patch of smoothed skin, cleaning the blood from his wrist. 

The soft, silky heat of her tongue flicking against him roared through his blood, the arousal coming back full force. 

"Trauma never defines us, no matter how long it's been." His mate whispered softly, her eyes downcast in a submissive motion, hiding the tumultuous emotion that flowed and ebbed in those multifaceted eyes.

_He wanted to wrap his hand around her throat, force her to look him in the eye._

Azriel said nothing, standing abruptly from his seat and slipping out the door, leaving his mate on the bed, her full lips stained red and sorrow mirrored in her gaze, uncertain if she'd perhaps taken a step too large for them. 

~o0o~

Three days passed before Rin was strong enough to stand on her own. To leave the bed and be able to use the restroom on her own was a win, even if it was a small one. 

_Cauldron,_ her muscles were so weak. 

She _hated_ being weak. 

Even if she knew that it was to be expected considering her situation. She _despised_ it with such a passion, would do anything and everything possible to regain her strength. 

These past three days, Azriel had seen to her—in the mornings, he would be gone, away on duties she was not fully certain entailed _what_ exactly, but he always returned to her room— _his_ room—at the end of the night. 

He didn't bring up the fact that she'd healed a small patch of his scars though she'd caught him looking at her, his hazel eyes bright with curiosity, dark with the residual shadows of a trauma that was never fully confronted. 

It was on the eve of the third night that she asked to take dinner with the rest of the House's occupants. It was so incredibly rude to be sequestered away as she was. Rin knew that there were other people that had contributed to her rescue. She could also just feel other beings in the house; part of her diagnostic powers stemmed from being able to map a space out with her energy, whether that was a body, or an expansive, sprawling manor. 

So one could imagine the surprised look on her would-be mate's face when she knew exactly the way to go to the informal dining room. 

Azriel would also not complain about the view of her tantalizing backside as she walked ahead of him, her hips swaying in one of _his_ tunics that was so long on her, it reached nearly to her knees, and a pair of leggings borrowed from Feyre. 

He'd let her have full access to his wardrobe if she wore his clothing, the possessive streak from the mate bond practically made him want to purr every time he saw her in something he _owned_. 

Rin wasn't certain what to expect before stepping into the dining room. There was a light smatter of conversation that flowed between a few groups of people but they all stopped as soon as she crossed the threshold. 

It wasn't hard to deduce who was the Lord of the House. Sitting next to his lovely mate, he was just as tall and imposing sitting down as the male who stood behind her was. Pointed ears, eyes that were a color that was reminiscent of obsidian and amethyst seemed to glow in the candle light, an analytical mouth was turned upwards in a seemingly welcoming smile that was both jaded and warm - Rin knew that this male was weary of her presence. 

Despite sitting down though, Rin was also aware that he had the ability to manifest wings. The air behind him seemed to shimmer with a current only she could see. She’d seen the instance only one other time—in a young girl that had a Peregryn father and High Fae mother.

Rin dipped her head in a respectful bow to Feyre. Beside her, a stern, austere faced woman sat, blue-grey eyes assessing her, pointed ears peeking out from an unruly updo of golden-brown hair. She was Feyre's sister if Rin had to take a guess—Nesta. The similarities were just too uncanny to disregard. Across from her, on the other side of the Lord, was a hulking male, long tendrils of dark hair curling at the nape of his neck, hazel eyes that slid across her over the rim of a wine goblet as he took a sip, wings draped over the back of special chairs meant to accommodate winged individuals. 

Beside him was a petite female, all dark hair and brutal silver eyes that were fixated on her. 

Rin could feel the prickle of so many pairs of eyes on her but she boldly met the gaze of the High Lord. She bowed low, pivoting at the waist—it was the customary greeting of the Dawn Court. The Lord of the House cleared his throat, giving her permission to rise from her bow.

“I’m relieved to see that you are recovered enough to join us for a meal,” The Lord — Rhysand — said. Azriel had given her a list of the names of the ones who would be present for this meal. Luckily the prolonged exposure to FaeBane didn’t seem to hinder her cognitive abilities. Her memory was still intact, though there were certainly some gaps from her imprisonment.

“I must extend my thanks, my Lord, for aiding in my rescue,” Rin replied demurely, she nodded her head in the other hulking male’s direction, “You must be Cassian. You were also part of the operation to my understanding, so I extend my thanks to you as well.”

Cassian raised his wine glass in a salute, winking at her from over the rim, earning a scowl from the one who was obviously his mate. 

At Rhys’ cue, Az led her with a hand to her lower back to their seats. Even though the meal was taken in the informal dining room, this was her first formal meeting of the Inner Circle. Once seated, the House set the table for them; an array of roasted meats and vegetables appeared, accompanied by baskets of fresh bread. A bowl of broth appeared before Rin. Her stomach was slowly becoming more acquainted with richer foods and she estimated that another few days would allow her to begin a transition to more solid items.

Light conversation started back up as the occupants in the room began the meal. Rin took a few sips of her broth before side eyeing the male she’d spent quite a lot of time with, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You have a headache.”

Az met her gaze, his hazel eyes boring into those mesmerizing pools of ivy and sunlight, “...let me guess, the lower back?” Rin giggled softly, the sound throaty and rough, lifting one dainty shoulder in a half hearted shrug.

“I’m sorry, I really can’t help it,” she answered back, holding his eyes as she took another sip of broth. It was out of pure reflex that she ran a full body scan every time someone touched her.

Azriel chuckled darkly, her shiver at the sound not going unnoticed by him. "And what should I do to alleviate the headache, hm?" 

Rin dipped a piece of bread into her broth, letting it soften. "Mm, I don't know. You do seem rather preoccupied every night," She stated, knowing that this was not an actual serious inquiry. "Maybe drink some more water." 

From across the table, Cassian muttered, "Yea, because _that's_ what he's thirsty for." 

The definitive sound of a pointed shoe colliding with a shin bone split the air, followed by Cassian's yelp of pain. Nesta glowered at her mate before turning to face Rin, who wore an amused expression on her face. 

"You'll have to excuse him," She said, shooting a glare at the warrior, "He's being inappropriate." 

Az swirled the wine in his wine glass, " _You're_ one to talk. The amount of precautions I take to announce my presence at the House of Wind so I don't walk in on something _inappropriate_ is ridiculous." He replied dryly. 

Feyre coughed out a laugh, looking at her sister who flushed red with a trace amount of embarrassment. Rhysand hid an amused smile behind his own wine glass. Cassian glanced at Az with a smirk that was reminiscent of the cat who got the cream—and he did get the cream, nearly every night.

"Well, maybe if you slept in your own bed you wouldn't have to take so many precautions," Cassian replied, taking a huge bite of roasted pork. Azriel scowled at him good naturedly. 

"Unless you've forgotten, I _do_ sleep in my own bed. You two fuck _and_ sound like angry rabbits. The sounds have an unfortunate tendency to carry," Az said, stabbing a roasted brussel sprout with his fork. Rin cocked her head at him curiously. 

"Why are you sleeping at their.. place of residence?" She asked, sipping from a glass of water. Alcohol probably wouldn't be a good idea for her to imbibe in for a few weeks yet though she yearned to taste wine again. 

Az responded without skipping a beat. "You're in my bed here and it's not as though I would kick you out of it."

Rin raised one perfectly arched brow. "I mean, you _could_ technically ask me to vacate your bed.." 

Cassian beat him to a response. "Mm, yea, about that, he's never going to willingly ask you to _leave_ his bed." 

Rhysand chuckled darkly, a languid, purely male smirk gracing his handsome face. "Az, you're more than welcome to the other ten bedrooms in this house." 

"And listen to you and Feyre? If I had to choose between a drawn out session that lasts hours or multiple bursts of sexual frenzy, I'll choose the latter," Az deadpanned. "At least in the House of Wind, I can get a few hours of sleep between the rounds." 

"Oh, that can be fixed." Cassian grinned wolfishly. 

Azriel rolled his eyes, a tiny smirk tugging up the corners of his lips

“Once I’m recovered enough, I’ll be happy to take up residence elsewhere if my being here puts a strain on your sleeping schedule,” Rin said softly, cocking her head slightly, fully serious in her statement.

“And return to the Dawn Court?” The petite female—Amren—interjected, her silver eyes focused on Rin with such intensity, it was a miracle she didn’t shudder under the weight of that gaze; her court mannerisms kicked into high gear as she considered her answer.

The tiny female with the silvered eyes of someone who had occupied the land for far longer than she’d ever walked upon it was testing her, she was certain of it.

“Perhaps in due time,” Rin replied demurely, glancing at Azriel to her right before continuing, “there are things here that require my attention.”

“Besides, I would need to plan my return to my home court carefully,” She said, swirling her spoon in the bowl of broth absentmindedly. “To have gone missing nearly two centuries ago and then to suddenly return would perhaps upset some people. Raise some questions, I’m certain.”

“You don’t have to return so soon,” Azriel said softly, cutting a glare towards Amren. Rin shook her head lightly, also glancing at the petite female before looking towards the head of the table at Rhys.

“Eventually, I would like to see them, though perhaps asking key members of my home court to come here wouldn’t be so out of the question?” She asked softly. Az had to give her some credit—she was skilled in maneuvering through court affairs.

Rhys nodded to himself, glancing sidelong to Feyre. The two seemed to have a quick mental conversation before he slid those star flecked eyes back to meet her golden green gaze. “I’m assuming you would mean Thesan and your mother. Thesan’s lover, the commander of the Peregryns, would also be invited by proxy.”

Rin dipped her chin delicately in affirmation. “Yes, they are the main ones who should be alerted to my...return.”

The High Lord of the Night Court nodded again, sipping from his wine goblet. “When you are fully recovered, we can speak more at length about inviting the Dawn Court here.”

“That is all I ask,” Rin replied, moving to dip another piece of bread into her broth, understanding that the conversation was over. Azriel watched her closely before he felt the presence of Rhys in his head.

_‘She would make an excellent advisor and ambassador.’_

Az cracked a wry smile, glancing towards his brother. _‘Poaching her so quickly?’_

Rhys laughed decadently in his head—he was joking about something or another aloud with Cassian. _‘Perhaps. I would never force her hand, but a position would be available for her in my Court.’_

And Az knew with that comment, Rin had been accepted into the Night Court. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad to see that the majority of the feedback is positive for this story. I'm pretty ahead of my posting schedule so maybe the next update will be a bit earlier? :)
> 
> I've got some pretty big things planned - it's more about trying to build the plot up enough that everything makes sense, lol. And of course, you guys should know that I'm dying to get to the smut. If SJM said that Az is a freak in the sheets....y'all know I'm going to make him a fREAK in the sheets :P


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